The Lion and the Dragon
by larc501fan
Summary: Burdened by the meaning of Nostradamus' prophecy, the secret behind the gallant prince Tomas, and the choice between love and duty, can Mary and Francis find their way back to each other? Continues after Ep1x3 (alternate Ep1x4 story). Mystery, Adventure, and Mary/Francis Romance/Angst.
1. Chapter 1

Mary sat at her desk and tried to study the book her language tutor had given her, but there was too much on her mind to concentrate on Portuguese.

How had it come to this? Just a week ago, Mary was full of hope after Francis sent men to defend her country's borders as well as their engagement. Now she was full of dread, their actions resulting in the loss of six companies and perhaps even Sebastian, forcing her to turn to Tomas' proposal. Francis had said they had to do what was best for their countries, but even though she knew he was right, it didn't make the decision any easier. Especially after he had kissed her with such longing and regret. He had opened up a new world to her and then shattered it, like her heart. But she must do what she must for Scotland, so she went to Tomas and accepted.

The newly crowned Prince of Portugal was dark and dashing, noble and charismatic, everything a prince ought to be. He just wasn't the prince she wanted. He did seem to genuinely care for Mary though and was offering salvation for her people, for which she was entirely grateful. Perhaps Aylee was right; feelings may come in time. They had the rest of their lives to get to know one another, after all. In the days after, however, she found just how different the two princes were. The more she saw of Tomas, the darker her future looked.

Tomas was extremely jealous of Francis and demanded he stay away from his bride-to-be. In truth, Francis and Mary were already avoiding seeing each other. The pain of knowing how close they had been to being together was too much. When they were both required to attend meals or meetings, they never spoke or came near one another. The rare and brief glances they exchanged were enough to communicate their grief but also enough to send Tomas into a jealous rage. He and Francis nearly came to blows over some imagined slights before Mary stepped between them. "Stop," she commanded, her strong voice echoing in the hall. Then she very deliberately turned to her new fiancé, took his arm, and left with him. The message was clear to all. She had not seen Francis since.

Still, Tomas requested Mary keep to her room unless he was there to accompany her to the Dining Hall or Gardens. She couldn't even visit Bash to see how he was recovering. She hated feeling like a caged song bird, but she was determined to make this alliance work, so she complied, even as her unease grew. His gentle caress quickly progressed into a hard grip, bruising her wrist or waist until she could hardly breathe. Mary had no experience in physical intimacy. She wondered if this was what Kenna meant by "strong arms" and "breathless embraces." Yet it had felt so different, so right when Francis had held her...

Mary shook her head. She must forget Francis. She sighed. The thought was as ridiculous as forgetting herself.

A soft scraping noise from behind provided a much-needed distraction. She stood and walked toward the hidden passageway door.

"Clarissa?" she called. "Is that you? Have you come to play?" The mysterious girl had visited Mary several times, always at unexpected moments. Sometimes it was every few days or every few weeks. Sometimes heard but never seen. Mary still knew nothing about her, other than the fact that she enjoyed trading marbles, smooth river stones, wildflowers, and bits of lace and ribbon. Lately, Mary and Clarissa had been playing a game of chess. Mary left the board on a side table near the hidden door, doing a turn every time she noticed one of the black pieces had been moved while she wasn't looking.

But before Mary reached that corner of her room, she heard Clarissa's harsh whisper. "Stop." Mary gasped as a girl's silhouette appeared on the room divider panel.

"You're here." Mary said with some apprehension. Clarissa hadn't made her presence in the room known since she had warned Mary about the wine. "Is there something wrong, Clarissa?"

A small silhouette of a dragon popped up on the panel. A shadow puppet. Mary let out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Are you going to tell me a story?"

"A riddle," Clarissa rasped. A lion silhouette went up opposite. "_The lion will fight the dragon on the field of poppies._"

A chill ran through Mary. That was what Nostradamus had told her. "Yes, England will fight Portugal. My fiancé Prince Tomas has sent men to help defend Scotland against the English." Mary hoped her calm but curious tone would encourage Clarissa to talk more. Perhaps she knew something about that prophecy.

"Another riddle," was all she said. "The lion plants lily seeds. How did they grow into poppies?"

Mary was thoroughly perplexed. "I...I don't know. How?"

"With _blood_."

Mary became frightened. "...Whose?"

"Beware the dragon!" Clarissa whispered urgently. She flipped the dragon's shadow so that it was no longer facing the lion. Instead, the two faced a third shadow emerging: the fleur-de-lis.

"Is France in danger?" Mary gasped. A knock at the door made her jump. When she looked back to the panel, the shadows were gone and she heard the scrape of the hidden door closing. Mary's heart beat fast. She took slow breaths to compose herself before going to the door. She opened it and her heart jumped again when she saw Tomas.

"It is time for the evening feast, my bride." He gripped her arm tightly and led her out.

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like or dislike. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Mary sat through dinner in a haze, her mind replaying her encounter with Clarissa. She paid the necessary attention to Tomas or King Henry, but the gears in her head trying to unravel the foreboding riddles drowned out everything else. Finally, with a rough kiss that made Mary's skin crawl, Tomas bid her good night, and she retired to her room in solitude.

The first thing she did was pull open the hidden door. "Clarissa, are you there?" she called softly into the darkness. "Please, I need to talk to you." There was no answer. She tried again. "Besides, it's your turn again. I took another one of your pawns." Silence. Disappointed, Mary sealed the wall and lied down on her bed, going over again what she knew, or what she thought she knew.

"_The lion plants lily seeds._" The lion was England and the lily represented France. This had to be about the ambush on Outreau where the English covered the field with dead French soldiers before they even made it to their ships. Tears filled Mary's eyes. She had begged King Henry and Francis for the men to help her country and now six companies were dead because of it and Sebastian might not make it. But there was no time to weep, not if France was in danger as Clarissa's shadow show implied.

"_How did the__ seeds grow into poppies? With blood._" At first, Mary thought this obvious. The poppy was a symbol for death, therefore the French lilies were stained red with blood when the English slaughtered the six companies. But maybe "_with blood_" meant something else. Not the soldiers' blood, but some other treachery that could explain how the French had marched straight into that death trap, perhaps? The more she thought on it, the more suspicious she became of the fact that the English knew to strike first at Outreau. How did they know the French prepared to sail from there to attack them at Calais?

And why did Clarissa say "_Beware the dragon!_" afterwards? What did Portugal have to do with the ambush? Tomas was sending the Portuguese troops to fight the English... wasn't he? It didn't make sense. Portugal wouldn't help the English attack the French, and then attack English troops themselves a few days later. She was missing something. She had to figure it out. Lives could depend on it._  
_

Late into the night, Mary fell into a restless sleep full of dark dreams of bloody flowers and ferocious beasts. After a few hours, though it felt like a few minutes of sleep, she awoke with a start. She sat straight up, processing a revelation that had formed during the night. Tomas sent his men to Scotland to please her. "_Eight companies of fighting men_," she recalled him saying. But what was he doing with eight companies ready on his ship if he was only in France for a trade negotiation? Unless... unless he was organizing an attack himself!

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like or dislike. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Mary jumped out of bed and called the servants, her mind racing as she was dressed. Was it possible Portugal was planning to join the English in the attack? Or was she creating a scenario that would allow her to escape her engagement to Tomas and return to... She had to speak with Tomas at once. She did not need to run far, as she met him on his way to her chambers. He looked displeased that she had left before he fetched her.

"Mary, I told you-"

"I need to speak with you." she interrupted. "It's important."

He paused, taking in her grave expression, then nodded. "Come, let's take a walk in the courtyard." He took her arm. Mary had to quicken her steps to keep from being dragged by him. Once outside, she pulled her arm away and faced him.

"Tomas, first, let me say that I am so very grateful for your support in my country's time of need." He smiled, but she rushed on before he could reply. "Tomas, I must ask you. Why were you traveling with an army on a simple trip to procure timber?"

Surprise flashed on his face for a split second before he quickly recovered. "I am the future king of Portugal, Mary. I need protection. These are dark and dangerous times."

"So I've heard." she said, undeterred. "But I never saw any of your soldiers, not even a royal guard with you. No one knew about your eight companies of men until you told me about them. Why?"

Tomas considered her for a moment then sighed. "Mary, my love, I cannot lie to you." Dread filled her as he took her hand. "My army was kept secret because they were part of a plan to stop the French from reaching Scotland." Mary gasped and tried to pull her hand away, but he only held it tighter.

"You're allied with the English?" she asked. A terrifying thought came to her. "Did they send you to kill me?"

Tomas laughed. "Of course not. Though it's true they would have liked me to get rid of you for them." Mary stood shaking as he leaned closer. "But I had heard of the beauty and spirit of Mary, Queen of Scots. I had to see you, to have you." He wrapped a strong arm around her. She couldn't move. "So we all agreed. I would eliminate you as a threat to England. Not with your life, but with your hand. They would never come after you again, once I take you as my wife, and take Scotland for England."

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like or dislike. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Mary was frozen. Whether it was by horror or the lock of Tomas' arms, she did not know or care.

"No. No no no no." Mary couldn't believe what was happening. She had entered into an engagement with a wicked, obsessed man and handed England the keys to Scotland. She had lost her country, her home, her freedom, her love. Everything, she despaired.

No. Not everything. She still had her life, and she would make things right if it was the last thing she ever did. Steeling herself, she looked up at Tomas with eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. "Tomas, please, you can't do this." Her voice was soft and low but steady.

Tomas shook his head and looked at her apologetically. "I must. I must have you, Mary."

"Please!" She said again, her voice growing with her determination. "I will marry you. I will be your wife. I will do anything. Just please do _not_ give my country to England."

"Do not worry, my love." He tenderly placed a hand on her cheek. "I have no intention of doing that."

Mary blinked. "What? But you said-"

"That was the plan, yes. But you agreed to be my wife, and I promised you I would send my men to defend your country, and so I have."

Mary's head was spinning. "So you, you would break your deal with England?"

"Yes, for you. They believe I am their ally, so they will never expect an attack from my army. They will be dealt with quickly, and we can save Scotland, as I told you. I want to make you happy."

Mary felt a rush of relief, but it was quickly replaced by alarm once again. This man had aligned with her enemies, planned for the Lion and the Dragon to destroy the Fleur-de-Lis together, and then betrayed that alliance for a woman. What else was he capable of? She suddenly remembered what Tomas had said that night on the boat. "_You're the woman I want. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep from losing you._"

"It was you," she said with dawning realization. "You were the one who warned the English that the French were coming."

"Yes," he admitted without a hint of remorse.

"But you turned on the English anyway. All those Frenchmen died because of you!" She was so furious she found the strength to push herself out of his hold. But he was too fast, too strong. He grabbed her and trapped her again.

"Don't you see? I had to. I knew I was losing you to that French brat."

"What?" His eyes gleamed like a zealot.

"I know about your midnight rendezvous with Prince Francis!" His hands dug into her arms painfully as he shook her. "He got you the troops you wanted and you ran back into his arms. I had to stop his men from reaching Scotland. _I_ would be the one to save your country and win your hand!"

Mary felt sick. In the past week, she had seen Tomas reveal himself to be a shrewd and possessive man. But to go to such lengths? To send all those poor soldiers to their deaths, just so he could send his own to battle the English? For her?

"How could you do this?" she whispered.

"Because I love you." he answered.

Mary shut her eyes as tears fell. She heard Lola's voice. "_Anyone who's close to you lives in constant danger._" Then Queen Catherine's voice. "_Spies and treachery are constant in our world._" And finally Francis' voice. "_You do have a way of leaving chaos in your wake._" They were right. God forgive her for her part in all this.

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like or dislike. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

Mary opened her eyes, stinging from tears and hate. "Let me go."

Tomas frowned. "I thought you would be pleased."

"_Pleased?_" she said incredulously.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? A marriage to a future king, a secure alliance with a strong country, an army to defend your lands."

"But not at the cost of people's lives!" Her voice was rich with emotion.

"I did what needed to be done." She heard a dangerous edge to his tone. "That is the sign of a strong king."

"No," she said. "What you did was unspeakable. That is the sign of a cruel king."

"I did it for you!" He shook her violently again. "You will be my queen!"

Fear spiked in Mary, but she continued, struggling to keep herself steady. "No, I will not. And if you think I would ever agree to marry you after what you just told me, then you are also a mad king."

With a roar of rage, he threw her to the ground. She cried out as she landed hard and scraped against the gravel. Before she could react, he knelt down and lifted her face to his. "I _will_ have you as my wife. Or I will command my companies to attack Scotland, not save it." Mary gasped, then swallowed hard. She had no choice. To save her country, she must marry this monster.

It was a moment before she could muster all her remaining strength to say, "I will go with you."

Tomas pressed his lips to hers, and with a gentleness that belied his true nature, picked her up off the ground. He took her hand and led her to the stables nearby. Mary was too numb to resist or argue when he lifted her onto his horse and climbed up behind her. But when he said, "It's time we eloped, my love." and raced toward the castle gate, her senses returned.

"What? We're leaving now?"

"Yes, I have a ship waiting to take us home to Portugal." It was really happening. Her dream that had been warped into a nightmare. She would be a true Queen of Scotland and Portugal, but she would have to be _his_ queen.

They rode through the gate and out into the open fields. Mary looked back one last time at the castle. She never even got to say goodbye to her friends, Aylee, Greer, Kenna, Lola. And Francis. Devastation took her. The sweet boy she'd dreamed of since she was six. The bright future she'd fantasized about. The noble, caring young man she'd reconnected with. Gone. The prince she loved was gone. She would never see him again.

Except... she _was_ seeing him. Through her tears, she swore she could see Francis on his horse, galloping out the gate behind them. But it couldn't be.

"STOP!" Francis' voice rang out in the crisp air. It was him!

"Francis!" Mary called, overjoyed at the sight of him.

Tomas looked behind, snarled, and kicked his stallion faster. Francis spurred his own steed on, but it wasn't enough. The distance between them grew.

"Mary, I'm coming!" Francis shouted. Mary looked around. She and Tomas were almost at the harbor. The hope that had been rekindled in her heart was nearly extinguished when suddenly another rider appeared. This one was directly in their path and heading straight for them. Tomas tried to evade him but was met at every turn. When the other rider was less than thirty feet ahead, Mary recognized him as Bash. Her heart leapt into her throat. What on earth was he doing? He had been seriously wounded only a week ago! He was in no condition to be riding fast and hard now.

Tomas leaned his horse to the right, then the left, but the two pursuers adjusted course and continued to close in. Trapped between Francis and Bash, Tomas abruptly reined in his horse, which reared and skidded to a halt. The two brothers rode within ten feet and stopped on either side of them. Bash was very pale and leaning heavily on his horse.

"What are you doing?" Tomas demanded. "Are you trying to start a war between Portugal and France? You have no right to stop me from taking my bride home."

"You have no right to take Mary as your bride." Francis countered angrily. "We found your messenger. He told us everything."

"It doesn't matter. Mary has agreed to be my wife, and no one is taking her from me." His arms tightened around her.

"Mary," Francis appealed directly to her. "You can't marry him. He was in league with the English the whole time. He told them our plans. He got our men killed."

"I know." she replied solemnly.

Francis' face showed his shock. "You do? Then why, _how_ could you marry him?"

Mary looked at him with desperation. "I must. He's threatened to pit his forces against Scotland. My people cannot withstand assault from both England and Portugal."

"You don't.. understand.." Bash said. Mary's concern for him grew as she watched him rasp each word out between short breaths. "We've sent word.. to England.. revealing Tomas' betrayal.." There was an angry growl from behind her.

"In exchange for this information," Francis continued, "England has agreed to leave Scotland in peace. They're sending their soldiers to meet the Portuguese troops instead. Your people are safe. You don't have to marry him."

Now it was Mary who was breathless. She was almost delirious. "The Lion and the Dragon will fight on the field of poppies." She half-laughed, half-cried. "I'm free." Francis and Bash smiled reassuringly, and she was overwhelmed by gratitude to them. A look of pure relief and affection passed between Mary and Francis.

But it was short-lived.

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research (apologies to Portuguese royalty ^^;). I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (yay more Francis) or dislike (sorry too melodramatic?). Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Just when Mary thought it was finally over, Tomas pulled out a dagger and held it to her side.

"No!" shouted Francis and Bash, tensed and ready to fight or resume the chase.

Tomas slowly backed his horse away from them.

"You may have ruined my plans for the time being, but I will still have Mary and her crown. Scotland can't afford to refuse Portugal."

"My mother will never agree to an alliance with you." Mary declared, trying to cover and control her rising panic.

"No country will. Not after you've broken England's trust so blatantly." Francis warned. "You've already lost all your political allies and trade deals. If you want to leave here with your life, _let Mary go_." He and Bash slowly moved forward.

"You dare threaten me, _boy_?" Tomas pointed his dagger at Francis, and then he pressed his lips to Mary's ear and whispered, "You're mine."

Mary had had enough. With the dagger pointed away from her, she grabbed her chance. "Never." she said, before she pulled the reins as hard as she could. The stallion reared, and Mary held on for dear life with her arms and legs. Tomas, however, was totally unprepared. His arm still wrapped around Mary, he had loosened his grip on the reins in one hand and held the dagger in the other. He was thrown off, tossed into the air. A shout and he tumbled down the craggy hill.

"Mary, are you alright?" Francis rushed to her side. When her horse and her heart had steadied, she lifted her head and nodded. He gave a great sigh of relief and reached out his hand to touch her face. A cry of agony and anger brought their attention back to Tomas, lying at the bottom of the hill, clutching his leg while blood dripped down his cheek.

"Mary!" he cried.

Francis looked coldly down at him. "I should go get him. He needs to be brought in and made to answer for what he's done, all the lives he's ruined." His voice shook with rage.

"No, leave him. There's no time." Mary said, turning to Bash. "We need to help your brother, quickly."

Francis looked up and fear shadowed his face once more. "Bash!" It seemed he had been so focused on saving Mary that he only then realized that Bash was hunched over his horse, barely conscious. "Hold on, Bash." They trotted to either side of his horse and, as gently as they could, laid Bash across the backs of the three side-by-side horses, his head and torso cradled in Francis' arms while Mary braced his legs on her lap to make sure he didn't fall off. His shirt was stained scarlet. His wound had reopened, and he had lost a lot of blood. The castle had never seemed so far. Francis held onto his brother protectively as they slowly, slowly walked back together. The sound of Tomas still calling for Mary echoed behind them.

"Bash, you fool." Francis scolded softly. "I told you to go back after you sent off the message to the English envoys." Mary had never seen him so upset.

"Told you-" Bash mumbled. "Told you I am a riding fiend." They tried to shush him and make him still, but he continued muttering. "Had to look out for my little brother and his fiancée." Francis' face crumpled.

Mary held Bash's hand and said with as much sincerity as she could convey, "Thank you, Bash. Thank you." His pale eyes lingered for a moment on Mary, slid out of focus, then closed.

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research (sorry, Portugal). I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (yay Mary saving herself) or dislike (oh no Bash!). Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed to take hours to reach the castle. When Bash passed out, they risked a bit of his comfort and sped up incrementally in the small hope that they could get there minutes sooner. Francis and Mary looked at each other, and their grave expressions confirmed what the other was thinking. They would be too late.

As soon as they were within earshot of the tower guard, Francis commanded them to fetch help right away. Nostradamus, and the court physicians, and the apothecaries. Anyone, everyone. Bash was running out of time.

Minutes later, a wagon rode out to meet them. Francis, Mary, and the nurses from the convent very carefully lifted Bash off the horses and carried his limp body to the wagon covered in soft hay.

"Go quickly but as steady as you can. Send word to the King." Francis ordered. "We'll follow." The servants nodded and headed back to the castle.

"Come on," he said as he mounted his horse. Mary made to do the same but stumbled, suddenly lightheaded. She leaned on her horse for support.

"Mary?" Francis moved closer to her. "Are you alright?"

She looked up. His face had become blurry. "I..I feel..." Her knees buckled and she found herself on the ground.

"Mary!" Francis leapt down to her. She felt his arms around her, the warmth of his chest against her back. He looked her over, then gasped. "No."

Mary followed his eyes down to a blood stain on her skirt. She assumed the blood belonged to Bash, but his hand shifted the folds to reveal a large rip in the fabric and, beneath that, a bloody gash in her thigh.

"Oh." she said weakly. The dagger in Tomas' hand must have cut her when he was being thrown off his horse, she thought vaguely. Perhaps she wasn't as clever as she'd thought.

"Hold on, Mary. I've got you." Francis whispered soothingly, though his voice trembled. She was so tired. Her eyes could hardly stay open. She felt herself being carried in Francis' arms, then...nothing.

...

* * *

Warbled sound. Hushed, urgent voices. Flashes of faces. Francis. Nostradamus. Nuns. Was she back at the convent? This wasn't her old room. Where was she?

...

* * *

From far away, as if through a long tunnel, she heard Francis' voice.

"Please, Mary. Don't go. I need you."

A warm hand covered hers.

"You do?" she croaked, barely audible.

"Mary?" The hand tightened around hers.

Her head felt so heavy. All of her did. Even her eyelids. She felt like she was waking from a week-long sleep.

Slowly, her eyes opened. The first thing she saw was Francis leaning over her, worry written all over his face.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Mmm..tired." was all she could manage.

"Hold on, I"ll get Nostradamus." He reluctantly let go of her hand and left her field of vision. Above her was a canopy of a four-poster bed with rich, cream-colored silks. She recognized it as her own bed in her chambers at the castle. The cobwebs in her mind started to clear. By the time Francis returned with the royal apothecary, she was almost fully awake and acutely aware of the throbbing pain in her right thigh.

"What happened?" she asked at once, conscious but still confused.

Nostradamus answered. "You had a bad cut in your leg. You fainted from exhaustion and loss of blood. I tended to your wound. You've been asleep for three days."

"Three days," she wondered.

"Do I have permission to examine your wound and change the dressing, Your Grace?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Francis, who had been standing a little behind Nostradamus, quickly turned away when the healer pulled back her coverlet and exposed her legs. She was wearing knee-length stockings, but her nightgown was shorter than she was comfortable with, ending above her knees so the caretakers had easier access to the gash. Mary blushed with embarrassment when Nostradamus touched her thigh, but he was gentle as he unwrapped the soiled bandages. She was afraid to look at the cut herself, but it was extremely tender and it stung when he cleaned the wound with a potion and smeared a pungent ointment over it. His deft and experienced hands minimized the pain, however, and she barely winced as he placed fresh linen around her leg. When he was finished, he covered her back up. Francis peeked to make sure it was safe to look before turning around, his face slightly pink.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me." Mary said again.

"It is an honor to serve." Nostradamus bowed. "Excuse me, Your Highness, You Grace. I must now see to Sebastian."

Memories flooded back. "Bash!" Mary gasped. "How is he?" She tried to sit up, but her head swam, and she let Francis help her lie back on her plush cushions. "Bash." She implored him.

Francis' face was grim. "We brought him back in time, but he'd lost so much blood. And now..."

"His wound has become infected." Nostradamus finished. "We're doing everything we can for him." He bowed and exited the room.

Francis ran a hand over his face. He looked ready to pass out himself, consumed with worry over his brother and his... friend, Mary corrected herself. She was no longer his fiancée.

She reached out and took his hand. "I'm so sorry, Francis."

He sighed heavily, squeezed her hand, and sat down on the chair next to her bed. "It wasn't your fault. It was Tomas."

Her face darkened at his name. "What became of him?"

He grimaced. "After I saw you and Bash to the doctors, I sent guards to retrieve him. He wasn't there. His ship was gone. That bastard escaped." His voice was full of bitterness.

The thought that that madman was free made her shudder. Mary didn't know what to say except to repeat, "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." He looked at her sadly, then abruptly looked away, stood up, and let go of her hand. "Now that you're recovering, I must return to my brother."

"Of course. Please tell him I'm praying for him." Mary said earnestly. Francis nodded and headed out. He paused at the doorway and without looking back, left her with "Your Grace."

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (longest chapter yet!) or dislike (too melo yet?). Thanks!

PS - I don't know what I'm doing. I've never written a multi-chapter story before, much less 5000+ words in one day! And what an exercise in futility! I basically wrote my own version of episode 1x4, only for it to be contradicted and incredibly surpassed in just a few days when the actual episode airs. Doh! Well, I guess it would be worth it if people enjoyed my story while waiting for Thursday. Please send me reviews to fuel my fire to continue writing! And thank you to everyone who's followed this fic!


	8. Chapter 8

Over the next couple of weeks, Mary regained her strength. Each day, Nostradamus would check her wound and say her recovery was going well. Each day, she would inquire about Bash's condition, but there was no change. Mary requested to go visit him, but the nurses forbade her from leaving her bed for more than three steps and never without assistance. She knew she couldn't walk on her leg, as painful as it still was, but it was frustrating. She would have gone insane if it weren't for her friends. They stayed by her side, talking about frivolous things, playing card games, and even taking all their meals with her in her room. But most importantly, they brought her news.

Greer informed her with grim satisfaction that Tomas returned home to Portugal a disgraced prince, completely friendless and now fighting a war against England. The English had kept their word and left Scotland alone, at least for the time being. Mary was thankful that at least some good had come from all this treachery. Her people were safe, for now.

But she was back to where she had started, a queen looking to marry a king to secure an alliance and protect her country. After breaking the alliance with France and then Portugal, Mary feared she was out of options. But Lola heard from the Scottish ambassador that after numerous apologies and promises, Scotland was negotiating with France to resume their original alliance. Mary and Francis could be engaged, again, within a month.

She hadn't seen him since that day. Mary's heart grew heavy with disappointment. When Aylee told her that he was often seen lingering in the hall outside her room and asking about her, Mary didn't know whether to be glad that he still cared or sad that he didn't care enough to see her himself.

Of course, he had more pressing concerns. Bash was still seriously ill. Every healer in the province was brought in. They managed to prevent the spread of the infection, but he remained fevered and unconscious. One day, Kenna came to her looking shaken. She had just visited Bash. Nostradamus had said that if Bash did not wake up soon, he would be lost.

The next few days passed in eerie silence, as if the whole castle waited with bated breath. Mary prayed day and night for his recovery. Finally, on the fifth day, Bash opened his eyes, still very weak but conscious. Everyone, even Queen Catherine, sighed in relief. It was a turning point; Bash improved daily. Two weeks later, Mary was deemed well enough for short excursions. The first thing she did was go see him, limping and leaning heavily on her friends. When she arrived, she saw that he already had a visitor at his bedside.

Francis jumped out of his chair when he saw her. She thought he almost said her name, but instead he stopped short, cleared his throat, and greeted her with a slight bow. "Your Grace."

It stung, just as it had the last time she'd seen him. She didn't know what to call him now, so she nodded awkwardly and turned to Bash, who seemed both amused and annoyed by the two of them.

"How are you feeling, Sebastian?" she asked him, unsure if they were friendly enough for her to call him by his nickname.

He still looked a bit peaky, but his smile was as charming as ever. "Much better, thank you, Your Grace. And I see you are as well. I'm glad. But perhaps you should take a seat?"

Francis started. 'Yes, your leg. You shouldn't be standing. Here, please." He stepped forward and held out his hand. Shyly, she took it. The moment they touched, their eyes met and a tension filled the space between them. Francis placed a supportive arm around her shoulders as he led her slowly to the vacant chair. With the exception of her frenzied rescue, it had been weeks since they'd been this close, since that day he had kissed her so exquisitely. Mary felt heat rise from her pounding chest to her face. She hoped he wouldn't notice, but he was mere inches away as he helped her ease into the chair. So close yet unreachable. His blue eyes showed tenderness but also apprehension.

"Thank you." she said softly, wanting to keep his gaze for as long as possible. He straightened, nodded, then broke their contact. She lowered her eyes to try to hide her disappointment. He turned to Bash. "I'll see you at luncheon."

Bash grinned. "Don't forget, I want clotted cream, not butter, for my bread."

"Whatever you want." Francis promised. Then, in a more reserved tone, "Your Grace." He nodded to her again and left before she could decide to call him Francis or not. She watched him go with a feeling of regret. She didn't realize she was staring at the empty door frame until Bash cleared his throat. She turned back to him. He had that knowing, teasing smile on his face again.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner." Mary said in a rush. "I wanted to, but you know, bed rest. Well, of course you understand. Not that my injury was anywhere near as serious as yours. I can't tell you how happy I am that you're alright. And I'm so, so incredibly sorry you were put in mortal danger because of me, Sebastian. Words cannot express how grateful I am to you and your brother for your help. I would be trapped by that mad prince if it weren't for you two, and-"

Bash raised a hand. "Mary, please stop. There's no need." he chuckled. Mary blinked in surprise. It was the first time she'd heard him use her name instead of her title. Bash then realized and quickly amended, "Apologies, Your Grace. I should never have presumed to-"

"It's alright." She smiled. "You can call me Mary, if I may call you Bash."

He raised his eyebrows then smirked. "It's a deal." After a moment, he added, "But what shall you call Francis?"

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (Frary romantic angst! + bonus Mashiness) or dislike (angsty Frary?). Thanks!

PS - I'm sorry it's taken so long to get through the main plot and get to the juicy Mary/Francis stuff. A lot more Frary coming up in the next chapter, I promise!


	9. Chapter 9

Mary looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "When I was engaged to Tomas, Francis stayed away, for my sake. But he seemed, that is, I thought...he might be as sorry to lose our.. alliance.. as I was."

"He was." Bash said seriously.

She looked up. "Then why is he acting this way? I'm not engaged to Tomas anymore. In fact, I'm told that I may be engaged to Francis again very soon." She gestured helplessly. "I don't understand why he's being so formal, so distant with me. I..I had hoped that this was what he wanted, too."

Bash sighed. "He's scared."

Mary's brow furrowed. "Of what?"

"You."

Mary was struck speechless. He continued. "He's scared of how much you mean to him."

* * *

Mary returned to her room exhausted. The short trip had taken more from her than she had expected. She dismissed her servants and immediately sank into her bed. It was then that she noticed a change to her chessboard. A black knight had moved, one of her white pawns was missing, and a white lily sat among the pieces. Clarissa. There'd been no sign of the girl since her warning to "_Beware the Dragon_." It occurred to Mary that she never really thanked her for that, so she carefully got up and limped to the hidden door. She pulled it open and spoke to the shadows. "Thank you, Clarissa, truly." Then, she dropped an ornate gold ring, wrought into the shape of a dragon with a diamond eye, on the floor. It made a satisfying _ping_ that echoed as it rolled into the pitch-black tunnel. It was the ring Tomas had given Mary, and she couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more than her mysterious guardian angel. And let that be the last she ever saw of that man, Mary prayed.

* * *

The next day, Mary visited Bash again. Only this time, she went in the hope of running into Francis again. She had to speak to him. She thought back to what Bash had told her the previous day.

"_You must understand. Francis has spent his whole life trying to live up to our father. He wants to become a good king more than anything. But he doesn't know if he's strong enough to do that.. _and_ love you_."

The reveal had both pleased and perplexed Mary. She needed answers, answers only Francis could give. So she was escorted to Bash's room after luncheon, and sure enough, found Francis sitting beside him. Just as Bash had promised.

Francis stood when he saw her and again addressed her as "Your Grace."

Bash, on the other hand, waved and greeted her with a bright, "Mary! So good to see you!"

Francis turned to him sharply, surprised that he had called her by her name. Mary couldn't help but smile and play along.

"I'm glad to see you looking so well, Bash." she said warmly. Francis whipped his head back to her at the sound of her using his nickname. Behind him, Bash wore a devilish grin and winked at Mary. She suppressed a giggle. Francis frowned at the two of them. Perhaps they had tortured him enough.

She composed herself and finally turned to him.

"Francis, may I have a word with you?"

He looked a bit wary but nodded. "Of course." He went to her and placed a hand on her back for support. Her heart skipped a beat. He offered his other arm, and she leaned on it. His body tensed. Amazing, she thought, the effect they had on one another. They walked slowly, in consideration of her leg, but also to prolong the moment, it seemed.

When they reached the exterior hall, he led her to a stone bench under an open archway that overlooked the Gardens. She sat down gingerly, and he withdrew to a respectful distance.

"Leave us, please." Mary told the attendants nearby. Finally, they were alone.

"I spoke with Bash yesterday." she began.

A small tick of a frown appeared briefly on Francis' face. "What about?"

"You. Us."

"Remind me to kick his arse once he's fully recovered." he said dryly, glaring at his door.

Mary smiled. "You should thank him. He helped me understand you better."

He turned back to her. His usually clear blue eyes were guarded. "Oh, really? What did you find out?"

"Francis, I know you want to be the kind of king your father wants, but you're not your father."

"He's made that abundantly clear." he muttered with a slight bitterness.

"What I mean is, you're not cold and calculating. You're clever and compassionate. But caring isn't a weakness."

"Emotions cloud judgment. A king must lead with his head, not his heart." He sounded as if the lesson had been drilled into him for years.

Mary shook her head. "No, a king or queen needs _both_. A monarch cannot simply run a kingdom like an enterprise. There's more to ruling than politics, trade, and military tactics. We don't deal with numbers and ideas; we lead _people_."

"Don't you think I know that?" he burst out angrily. "Everything I do, all the politics and trade and war, is for the good of my people. My heart belongs to France."

There was a beat of silence before Mary spoke.

"And there it is. Our problem. You're afraid that if you let anything else into your heart, France won't be your first priority. You're afraid of making the wrong decision."

"It's already happened." She knew he was talking about Outreau. She saw the same guilt and sadness she felt reflected in his eyes. "I sent those men to the slaughter."

"That wasn't your fault." she said at once. "Tomas is to blame, no one else." She tried telling herself the same thing at night. It didn't seem to comfort him much either.

"Regardless, I can't let it happen again." Francis said, his jaw set. "I am the future king of France. I can't afford any distractions."

Mary stood up, holding the wall for support. "Is that what I am to you? A distraction?" She couldn't hide the hurt in her voice.

Francis seemed to regret what he said. "No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just..I-" He made a frustrated noise and ran a hand through his hair. He stared at her for a few moments, struggling to find words. She stared resolutely back, willing him to go on, to tell her, once and for all, how he felt.

Finally, he spoke. "I've fought it. Ever since you came back, I've been fighting to control my emotions, as a king should. I tried to remain ambivalent about the whole situation. Alliances can change. We may never get married. What's the point of forming an attachment and pinning hope on a future that may not come to pass?"

Mary nodded in understanding. Francis took a step closer to her. "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't treat you like just another political ally, because you didn't see me that way either." Another step. "And I thought I could be happy just having you back as my friend. But no matter what I do, I can't ignore the pull." He made the final step, closing the distance between them. His eyes were now an intense crystal blue, searching her face for answers. Without knowing, Mary leaned forward until he was only a breath away. Francis lifted his hands to her face and bent down, his forehead resting on hers. "You have a hold on me, Mary." he whispered.

Mary drew a sharp, shallow breath. Her heart was beating wildly. She brought her hands to rest on his arms. "Francis." she breathed, her gaze drifting to his lips.

He shut his eyes, a pained expression. "Which is why I can't be near you."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

He looked so lost. "_You're_ my weakness, Mary."

Just like that, he released her and pulled away.

"I'm sorry." he said, stepping back. With a look of resolve, he turned on his heel and strode away.

But he only made it three steps.

~~~~~~~~~~To Be Continued~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (Mashy fun) or dislike (ugh so close!). Thanks!

PS - Sorry for the long wait, but it's an extra long chapter! I hope you like it. I know people want more romance, not just angst, but I couldn't get the story to that point yet (geez, Francis, why are your issues so hard to write and resolve?). But it's coming in the next chapter (for real). Just don't expect chapters to be posted as quickly as the first few. Romance is hard, and my inspiration is fleeting. T_T But thanks for reading, following, and reviewing!


	10. Chapter 10

"_You're_ my weakness, Mary. I'm sorry," he said as he turned from her and started walking away.

Mary exhaled sharply. Oh, no. She wouldn't be left like this. Not again. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she took short, quick steps and caught up to him before he'd gone more than five feet.

"Francis!" She reached out and grabbed his arm, whirling him around. He stopped. He allowed her to hold onto him to keep her balance, but he refused to face her directly, his gaze focused on a spot somewhere past her right shoulder.

"How could you say that to me?" she asked angrily. "As if I were holding you back, a liability."

"If I can't think clearly and do my job when you're with me, then that's exactly what you are."

Mary felt like she'd been slapped in the face. She took a breath before responding.

"You think pushing me away shows strength, but it doesn't. You're being a coward."

He swallowed, but continued to stare to the side. "I'm sorry if I upset you, Your Grace."

"Don't!" Her voice filled the hallway.

She continued in a low voice. "Don't pretend to be detached. I can't pretend anymore. I won't."

She sighed. "I've endured years being threatened by the English and waiting for the day we would wed. All for Scotland. I would gladly give my life for my people. But that's not all I'm fighting for now. This isn't just about an alliance between our countries. I want this for _us_, too."

Francis finally met her eyes, anguish on his face. "Mary, so do I. But isn't that being selfish? With so much at stake, how could we think of our own desires?"

Mary moved her hand down his arm and took his hand. "It's not selfish to want to share life's joys and pains with someone. We both only want what's best for Scotland and France. Being together won't change that. I would never ask you to put me before your duty."

"I know that." He squeezed her hand. "But what if I did?" The lesson from Outreau would not soon be forgotten.

"I wouldn't let you." she said firmly. "I meant what I said before. If anything threatened you or your country, I'd be there. I'd save you. Even from yourself."

Francis gave the smallest smile, but he still looked troubled. "And what if there comes a time when what's best for Scotland is not what's best for France? Or vice versa? I don't want us to have to choose between loyalty to the kingdom and loyalty to each other."

Mary lowered her eyes, considering the dilemma. After a moment she looked back up and said, "We just have to trust each other. And if we disagree, we must discuss the problem until one of us convinces the other and gains their support. That's all a king and queen can do, decide on a course of action to the best of their abilities and then face the consequences." She spoke with absolute conviction, unwavering. "It wouldn't have to be a choice between serving our people and caring for each other. Because we would rule France and Scotland _together_, standing side by side. And that wouldn't make us weak. It would only make us _stronger_."

She let the weight of her words sink in.

"You're so sure." he said wonderingly. "Like you have no doubts. Like you have everything figured out already."

Mary smiled. "I lived in a convent for seven years. I had a lot of time to think."

He laughed softly.

"Besides," she went on. "You're not the only one who's spent their life preparing for their reign."

"I know." he said. "You're a queen in your own right. Strong-willed, brave, intelligent, and compassionate. France, that is, I, would be lucky to have you as a queen." Mary blushed with pleasure. "I just wish I knew for certain that our feelings for one another won't lead us down a road we'll regret someday. I don't want anyone to get hurt, especially you."

Mary shook her head. "No one can know for certain what the future will bring. All we have is faith. Faith in ourselves and each other." She clasped his hand tighter.

Francis took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes full of admiration. She smiled at him and shifted closer.

"You have a good heart. Trust it, Francis." She placed her free hand on his chest. "As I do." He covered her hand with his, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating.

They gazed at each other, all words spent. There was just the two of them, locked in a silent struggle. Mary waited for his decision. Would he choose safety, or would he take that leap of faith with her? He swallowed. His eyes fell upon her lips. Francis leaned toward her, paused briefly, and then at last, with a sigh of surrender, he brought his lips to hers.

His kiss was tender, filling her with a warmth that spread throughout her entire body. Was it possible to taste emotion, her hazy mind wondered. It was different from their first desperate kiss. Instead of sorrow, she felt deep affection, yearning..._love_.

He kissed her slowly at first, deliberately, as if savoring each second. She felt his hands caress her cheek and slide around her waist, pulling her closer. Clutching the front of his doublet, Mary melted into him.

His hands roved up and down her back and into her hair. A moan escaped her lips, and his kisses became more insistent, more intense. Over and over, Francis took her mouth, leaving her dizzy with passion. She never wanted to stop feeling this way.

"Francis!" she whispered against his mouth. A groan reverberated from the back of his throat and seemed to thrum through her. With one last deliciously deep kiss, Francis released her lips.

Mary gasped for breath. She kept her eyes closed, wanting to remember it all, every touch, every sensation. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her face feverish. Still held in Francis' embrace, she could hear and feel him trying to regain control as well.

After a minute, she opened her eyes. Francis was looking intently at her, as if waiting or wanting to say something. But then...

"Well, now!"

Mary and Francis jumped apart, shocked by the sudden arrival of Bash. He leaned against his door frame and smirked.

"It's about bloody time."

~~~~~~~~~~To Be _Concluded_~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (finally!) or dislike (finally!). Thanks!

PS - You said it, Bash! This was the hardest chapter. When I started this fic, I didn't actually have a concrete ending in mind, so I really struggled to write a conversation that stayed "in-character" _and_ resolved their issues in one "episode" story. Still don't think I quite succeeded... And I'm terribly sorry if my Frary romance scenes don't live up to all the build-up. =/ **Next chapter is the final one! Thanks for sticking with me!**


	11. Chapter 11

Mary bent her head, trying to hide the wide smile on her flush face.

"Do you mind?" Francis asked with equal parts amusement and exasperation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I interrupting?" Bash replied in mock innocence. "Don't mind me, I'm just here to tell the pretty nurse I'm ready for my sponge bath."

Francis chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Careful, you're not back to full health just yet."

"No, but it's good to see _you_ have been cured of your misguided sense of nobility. Nice work, Mary. We make a good team." He winked at her.

Francis raised his eyebrows at her, but before she could respond, a royal page rushed into the hall and up to Francis.

"Your Highness, your father, His Majesty the King, requests your presence."

Francis looked at Mary. There was still much to say.

"Ah," the page awkwardly cleared his throat. "His Majesty requested it..at once, Sir."

Francis gave a frustrated sigh.

"Go," Mary said. "We'll talk more later." Matters of state must come before matters of the heart, after all.

Francis took her hand and kissed it chastely. "We will." he promised. Then he left with the page toward the Map Room.

"It seems you got through to him." Bash said to her.

Mary looked uncertain. She knew Francis cared deeply for her, and he had kissed her passionately, but she still wasn't sure what that meant for them. "I hope so."

* * *

On her way back to her chambers, Mary visited the church. She had not been able to attend service since her injury. It felt good to worship in the House of God, rather than in her room, again. With her friends' help, she knelt. At the altar, she lit six candles, one for each of the companies lost at Outreau. She prayed for those soldiers, and she prayed to God for the strength and wisdom to be a good queen for Scotland, and, God willing, for France someday.

When Mary and her ladies-in-waiting returned to her rooms, a messenger arrived shortly after. King Henry had decreed that there would be a royal feast that evening for Sebastian's return to Court. Mary wondered briefly how Queen Catherine would take a fete in honor of a bastard. The girls chattered excitedly about what they would wear and who they would dance with. Their enthusiasm was contagious, and Mary joined them in gushing and playing with each other's hair while they got ready. They teased her about Francis, and she confessed she was anxious to see him again, but she didn't tell her friends about her talk, and kiss, with him. It felt as though to speak of it aloud would somehow break the spell. She wanted to keep it a secret, to own that moment for herself and treasure it.

* * *

Mary entered the Throne Room. The festivities were already underway, the room bursting with the sound of lively music and a hundred people talking, eating, laughing, and dancing. The King and Queen sat at the far end of the room, joined by Prince Charles and his brothers and sisters. Except Francis, whose seat was empty, and Bash, who was illegitimate and therefore not allowed at the royal table. She spotted Bash sitting on a cushioned chaise lounge below and beside the dais, surrounded by admiring ladies feeding him, but there was no sign of Francis.

"Mary!" At the sound of his voice, she looked into the crowd and saw that Francis had come down to meet her. He looked as handsome as ever in a doublet of dark blue velvet. And there was something else, a lightness in his eyes that she hadn't seen in years. He smiled broadly when he reached her. For a moment they said nothing, just gazing at each other and smiling.

"You look beautiful, Mary." he said then.

"Thank you." she replied, pleased. She wore a rich gold brocade gown. It was her favorite. Though she planned to sit out the dance, she had wanted to wear something special that night.

"Mary, I have something to tell you."

Just then a trumpet sounded. Everyone turned to face the throne. King Henry stood, and the room instantly fell silent.

"Tonight we celebrate family." he said. He raised his glass, and his subjects followed. "We celebrate their health." He glanced sideways and smiled fondly at Bash, who raised his cup to his father. "And we celebrate their happiness." the King said as he turned to look at Francis. "I am pleased to announce our renewed alliance with Scotland, and strengthening that friendship, the engagement of Francis, Dauphin of France, to Mary, Queen of Scots."

Mary gasped while everyone applauded and cheered. This was what Francis had wanted to tell her, the main reason for the sudden soiree. Francis smiled warmly and held out his hand to her. She took it, brimming with happiness, and they walked through the sea of well-wishers. Bash whistled and whooped as they passed him, and they laughed. When they reached the dais, Francis bowed and Mary curtsied to his royal parents. King Henry said "Welcome to the family, again." to Mary, while Queen Catherine, looking far from overjoyed, gave a polite nod of acknowledgement. But nothing could dampen Mary's spirits that night.

Or so she thought.

Throughout the evening, dignitaries from all over Europe came to extend their country's congratulations and best wishes to the happy couple. Mary and Francis thanked each one graciously. But then a crash of the doors disrupted the frivolity. The ambassador of Portugal stormed in. He strode up to them looking furious.

"This is an insult!" spat the ambassador. "You have humiliated our prince and ruined Portugal's reputation!" he accused Mary.

Mary was speechless, but Francis had several choice words. "Tomas did that himself. He deceived everyone. He got my men killed, tried to trick Mary into being his wife, and betrayed all his allies. Then when he was caught, he ran away with his tail between his legs."

The ambassador snarled. "I bring a message from Prince Tomas. Enjoy this night, but know this: he will take back what is rightfully his. And if he cannot have her, no one can."

The blood froze in Mary's veins. Francis stepped in front of her protectively. "You dare threaten a queen at Court?" The two men glared at each other. "Guards, get this man out of here." Francis commanded. The ambassador was dragged out, spewing curses in Portuguese.

The confrontation left Mary badly shaken. She barely noticed Francis place a comforting hand on her back. The buzzing in the room grew louder and louder.

"Can we go someplace quiet to sit?" Mary asked, her voice a bit unsteady.

"Of course." Francis took her hand and led her through a side door to a small meeting room. She sat on an upholstered bench and took a deep breath while Francis closed the door and shut out the noise. He sat down next to her and held both her hands in his.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

Mary nodded, then laughed wryly. "You'd think I'd be used to threats by now."

"Don't worry about him. I won't let anything happen to you." he said adamantly.

"Thank you." she replied, smiling at him. She felt calm and safe when she was with him. He looked straight into her eyes.

"Mary, I swear to you I will be by your side. Against all enemies and all obstacles, political or otherwise. Not just as your friend, but as your fiancé. I'll do everything I can to keep this engagement for _us_, too."

"And I swear to do the same for you." Mary said. "To fight for us and protect our union and our countries."

"Whatever may come, the lions and the dragons, literal or figurative-" Mary laughed lightly. He squeezed her hands. "Anything life throws at us, we will face it _together_, as husband and wife, king and queen."

Full of gratitude and affection, she threw her arms around his neck and body and hugged him. It took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered, wrapping her in his arms, bringing her closer. They held each other for a long moment, relishing the feel of their embrace and the serenity that came with it. Francis kissed the top of her head then parted slightly so that they were face-to-face.

"Earlier today, I wanted to say something to you, but I didn't get the chance." he said. "Actually, I've been wanting to say this to you for months, maybe even years." He bit his lip then laughed softly. "This usually comes before an engagement, so I'm sorry this is so late." He cupped her cheek with his hand. The tender smile on his lips and in his eyes warmed her heart. "I love you, Mary."

Her breath caught, and then a small smile formed on her lips and slowly grew into a wide, happy grin. "I love you, too, Francis." she said sincerely. "I have since we were six." He smiled and leaned in to kiss her.

Their first kiss had felt like a bitter farewell. Their second, a storm of emotions and pleasure. But this time, with their kiss came a sense of completion, feelings of joy and love, and the promise of the beginning of a lifetime together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This, like the show, is a piece of historical fiction/fantasy. I tried to avoid being anachronistic, but the historical characters and political plotlines are not based on any research. I do not own Reign. Please review if you like (ILYs!) or dislike (the end!). Thanks!

Final thoughts: Extra long finale chapter, whoo~ / IT'S DONE. I can't believe I managed to write this story in less than one week! Let's see how it holds up against Episode 1x4. (_ETA: Well_?) / Anyone else want Tomas to be a recurring evil-hot stalker villain? (_ETA: Dammit!_) / I'm 100% Frary, but Bash sure is a lot of fun! / Depending on your outlook, the Frary parts from the last two chapters are incredibly romantic and/or tragically ironic. :X / Shout out to Sam and other Guests since I can't PM to say thanks for the comments! / **THANK YOU, EVERYONE.** Thank you to all the readers, the 100+(!) followers, the favoriters, and especially the reviewers! You guys rock and made the hours of writing and waiting for Thursday worth it. THANKS! :D


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